


A New Systolic Beat

by partypaprika



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:47:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22264348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/pseuds/partypaprika
Summary: In the aftermath of everything happening, an agonal shift in her life, Marta forces herself to think small and immediate. Move less urgent problems out of the way, assess the remaining ones, sort what is in front of her and then address the most critical.And that’s what Marta does. The most critical and immediate of steps are relatively easy for Marta—call Mr. Stevens, give a statement to the police and go home where her mamá makes her some hot chocolate and puts her to bed.Everything else is difficult. But that at least was easy.
Relationships: Marta Cabrera/Meg Thrombey
Comments: 17
Kudos: 282





	A New Systolic Beat

In the aftermath of everything happening, an agonal shift in her life, Marta forces herself to think small and immediate. Move less urgent problems out of the way, assess the remaining ones, sort what is in front of her and then address the most critical.

And that’s what Marta does. The most critical and immediate of steps are relatively easy for Marta—call Mr. Stevens, give a statement to the police and go home where her mamá makes her some hot chocolate and puts her to bed.

Everything else is difficult. But that at least was easy.

Mr. Stevens comes to their apartment, his junior associate carrying three bulging file cases, and the two of them carefully lay out several stacks of folders on the Cabreras’ meticulously cleaned kitchen table.

“This is a schedule of each of Harlan’s assets,” Mr. Stevens says, opening one folder. He thumbs through the several folders below it. “They are divided up by asset type: intellectual property—that’s Harlan’s books—stocks, bank accounts, real property, notes, bonds. The list goes on.” 

Marta nods as if Mr. Stevens happens to be making sense.

“These are Harlan’s liabilities,” Mr. Stevens says. At Marta’s blank look, he explains. “These are the outstanding amounts that Harlan owed—a few mortgages on the real property, a lawsuit or two against him and the publishing house. For an empire the size of Harlan’s, unsurprising. There is also a breakdown of the publishing business, all related employment contracts and employee benefit plans.”

Marta nods again. Mr. Stevens keeps explaining, pointing Marta to several pages. There is a chart on one of the page, a diagram of the various companies that Harlan owned. Some of the names look familiar. Other don’t. But Marta keeps nodding, agreeing with Mr. Stevens and wondering if someday she will stop feeling like a broken jack-in-the-box toy, head wobbling constantly.

When Mr. Stevens leaves, her mother comes over and sits at the table, carefully opening up one file than the other. “So, you are going to keep it?” she asks.

Marta gives a one-shouldered shrug. “What else can I do?” she asks. “Harlan wanted me to have it.” And for some reason, that makes her start crying again—Harlan, who had trusted Marta until the end but not enough to let her try to save his life—if he’d only just—listened—he would still be alive.

Her mamá comes over and folds her into a hug, whispering words of love and affection. Marta wants to wail, to curl up into a ball in the corner of her room. It’s unfair—Harlan should be alive. This should be his to use. Marta wants to rewind time, to go back a week ago, before any of this happened. _She didn’t ask for this_.

“I know,” her mamá says, holding her close.

When Marta finally pulls herself together, she tries calling Meg. There’s another pain in her heart while the phone rings, right next to her sternum, and it deepens when the call goes to voicemail.

There’s so much that Marta wants to say, it overwhelms her for a long moment. She can’t help but think about the look in Meg’s eyes after the police had arrested Ransom. Marta knows Meg so well now—from hours of friendship, the camaraderie of laughing together over a cup of tea while Harlan teased them or shared glances at yet another Thrombey awkward comment.

Marta can read Meg as easily as her favorite book. At that last look, back at Harlan’s, Marta couldn’t mistake the self-contempt and self-disappointment in Meg’s eyes. Marta’s angry with Meg for exposing her mother to the Thrombeys, but she misses Meg, understands why she did it. She just wants Meg to talk to her.

The answering machine is still waiting and it’s all there on the tip of Marta’s tongue. _I miss you. I’m sorry for all of this. Can we go back to before?_ She settles for “It’s me, Marta. Please call me back.” And then, squeezing out before she can stop herself, “Please.”

Meg doesn’t call her back.

She spends the next week calling up law firms—she devotes a lot of time online looking up different rankings of law firms and picks five law firms with sterling reputations and sets up meetings with all of them. She officially retains Mr. Stevens to help with this steaming pile of mud that Harlan has left her and she sucks up her pride to go and see Walt.

Walt looks visibly nervous as he settles into the table at Starbucks across from Marta and it just makes Marta feel an old, low ache in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m, uh, sorry,” Walt said. “I wouldn’t have turned in your mother. There’s, uh, no denying that I want the money. It just seemed—well, it seemed like we could all win. But, we weren’t. Going to all win.”

Marta pushes up the flare up of anger. She doesn’t say “It’s ok,” because it’s not. But she nods, because she does believe that. From Walt anyways.

“I’m not going to renounce it,” Marta says. It’s best to get that out of the way now. “But, I want to give you the option of continuing to run the publishing house. Harlan wanted you to go out on your own. Create your own life, separate from his. However, I’m not Harlan. If staying with the business is what you want, I’ll pay you a salary and you can continue to run it.”

Walt sighs and looks down at his cane. Marta waits another moment before continuing. “Or, we can try something else. You spend the next year training your successor. And then you write a book. Your father always thought that you were a great writer. He talked about your writing a lot—and I think that Harlan would know good writing. I’ll publish your book. But, I won’t guarantee that it will sell well or that you’ll be the next version of your dad.”

Walt looks back up at Marta and swallows a few times before he closes his eyes as if in pain. “You know,” he says eventually. “When I was a kid, I used to write all these stories for my dad. I would read them to him before I went to bed. It’s funny because it’s supposed to be the other way around. But that was our little game. I would write mysteries and try to stump him.” Walt’s voice goes scratchy and he brings up a hand to wipe at his eyes.

Marta tries Meg again later that night. This time there is no ringing, it goes straight to voicemail and Marta leaves another message, wondering what she’s even trying to accomplish.

On Saturday morning, there’s a knock on the apartment door and Marta warily goes to answer it. When she looks through the peephole, there’s a woman with light brown skin and short curly hair wearing a blue blazer, cream button-down shirt and jeans, cute flats, a folder tucked under her arm.

Marta warily opens the door just enough for her to speak. “Who are you?” she asks.

The woman smiles at her. “I’m Professor Lisa Field,” she says. “Meg sent me. I’m a lawyer and professor who specializes in immigration law.”

Marta goes hot, then cold, and something must show on her face because the woman’s face goes serious and she holds up a hand.

“Nothing has happened. Something may or may not happen. I don’t know. But Meg wanted me to go through your options,” she says

Marta’s stomach drops but she opens up the door fully and lets the professor come in. Thankfully her mom and sister have already left for work.

“How do you know Meg?” she asks of the hundreds of Meg-related questions that pop up.

Professor Field smiles. “Meg was one of my students,” she said. “She’s very passionate.”

Marta smiles at that. “She really is. She is amazing. Did you teach one of her classes?”

“Yes, several,” Professor Field says, laughing. “She was my TA, as well, until she dropped out of the master’s program.”

Marta’s heart stops. That doesn’t make sense—Meg wanted to change the world with a master’s degree in social justice. She’d chosen her program specifically because it offered a combination of a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree. If she needed help, Marta would have helped her without asking. She pulses with anger and hurt and betrayal. _How could Meg have not said anything to Marta?_

“Out of college?” Marta asks eventually, the words feeling raw in her throat as her desperation wins out. Too much time has passed, the professor probably thinks that she’s crazy, but Marta needs to know.

Professor Field looks at Marta appraisingly. “No. She’ll finish her bachelor’s in spring, as planned,” she says, cool and firm. “Now, why don’t we focus on your family.”

When Professor Field leaves later that morning, having given Marta a list of documents and statements that she should start collecting, as well as a cautious but optimistic prognosis, Marta tries Meg again.

“Hi, it’s Marta. Professor Brown just came by. Thank you for arranging that. I really appreciate that. She said, um, that you left the master’s program? Is that true?”

There’s no answer, just the silence of the voicemail and Marta closes her eyes. “Meg, please call me back. I just want to talk.”

She does—she wants to talk to Meg so badly, it physically aches. Some logical part of her says that she should stop caring so much about Meg—the Thrombeys hate her now. Meg is a Thrombey. Marta doesn’t owe any Thrombey anything. But every other part of her rebels at that—Meg is not just a Thrombey. She’s Marta’s friend. She’s Marta’s.

The next day, Marta drives out to Harlan’s estate and starts to go through the vast collection of odd memorabilia, art, knick-knacks and what-have-you. She hasn’t decided what she will do with Harlan’s place (the thought of living there feels _wrong_ ), but the act of going through each room grounds her, gives her an immediate goal and focus. It may be an artificial focus, but she’s grateful for it nonetheless.

Going through Harlan’s items is…odd. To say the least. Marta loved Harlan as if he were her own family, but no one needs a room filled with life-size reproductions of chimpanzees mounted to the wall.

—Harlan had bought those from a collector while he was writing _The Pendant of Grand Lahou_ as “research”. “I still don’t understand why you needed an entire collection,” Marta had said when she’d first seen them, shuddering.

“It helps creates ambiance,” Harlan had said loftily. “Ambiance is very important for writers.” At Marta’s look, he’d said, “It wasn’t as if these were ever alive. Purely synthetic. And invaluable as a research tool. It helped to have them right there to make sure that certain items could fit into their allotted literary-device spaces. And I did a little on the fly innovating.”

Marta knew the end to _The Pendant of Grand Lahou_ and it in no way endeared the monkeys to her. She stayed far away from the (purely synthetic) chimpanzee room—

“I don’t know what I am going to do with those chimpanzees,” Marta says on Meg’s answering machine. “Are there places that accept fake stuffed chimpanzees? I don’t know.” She laughs a little, feeling silly telling this all to someone who may not even hear it, but her mamá wouldn’t have understood the depth of Harlan’s oddities as encompassed in the chimpanzees.

Maybe Meg will listen to the voicemail and laugh a little. It’s nice to think about Meg laughing again.

When Marta talks to Linda about potentially turning Harlan’s house into a museum of sorts or a writer’s retreat, Linda softens minutely in her hostility.

She informs Marta in clipped, dry tones that she’ll think on it. Almost as an after-thought, she adds, “And of course, you know that Meg and Joni aren’t speaking.”

“I—I hadn’t,” Marta says.

Linda makes a sound of disinterest. “Apparently, Joni had been double dipping from Harlan for Meg’s college fund. I knew that all of her new age, granola, Instagram mojo stuff was too good to be true.”

That night, Marta tries Meg again. It’s almost a habit now—if nothing else, it’s a connection to her. Perhaps the most tenuous of connections, but even that feels better than nothing.

Just before it goes to voicemail, the phone picks up. Marta is so shocked, she doesn’t say anything until Meg quietly says, “Hi, Marta.”

“Meg,” Marta says, stumbling forward finally, “Meg, you answered.”

“I’m sorry for not answering earlier,” Meg says. “I’m sorry for everything. I should have gotten the guts to call you back sooner, but…I couldn’t.”

“It’s ok,” Marta says. “Can we meet?” There’s a long silence and Marta wants to jump across the phone, cut the distance between them.

“Yes,” Meg says quietly. And then, more quietly, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Marta says and then, because she has an irrational fear that if she doesn’t take the chance now, she may not get again, “Let’s get some dinner.”

“Now?” Meg asks. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Now,” Marta says, more firmly than she feels.

“Alright,” Meg says slowly. “Yes, midnight dinner. Can, um, you come pick me up? I don’t especially want to risk public transportation at midnight.”

“Of course,” Marta says.

Meg is waiting outside the dorm when Marta pulls up, her jacket zipped up and scarf pulled tight as a concession to the cold, almost rendering her as another faceless college student, but Marta would recognize Meg anywhere, her pulse racing as Meg opens up the door and squeezes in.

“Marta,” Meg says and Marta sees the careful way that Meg is holding herself—trying not to infringe on Marta’s space.

“Meg,” Marta says and leans over and pulls her into a hug, ignoring the gear shift poking into her side. Meg relaxes at the touch and wraps her arm around Marta, burying her face in Marta’s throat. Marta breathes deeply, the familiar scent of Meg grounding her.

They stay like that for forever, a blink of the eye, before Marta pulls back. “Midnight dinner?” she asks.

“Yes, midnight dinner,” Meg says, her voice suspiciously hoarse and her eyes red. On impulse, Marta reaches out her hand. Meg looks down at it and carefully reaches out her own hand, twining their fingers together for a long moment before Marta has to retrieve her hand in order to drive.

They’re both quiet on the drive over to Monty’s, an all-night diner, and only after they’re seated does Meg break the ice. “I’m so sorry,” Meg says. “I don’t know how I’ll make it up to you or if I can make it up to you, but I will do everything that I can.”

“Thank you for sending Professor Field over,” Marta says. “She was very helpful.”

“I’m glad,” Meg says.

“You left the master’s program,” Marta said.

Meg grimaces. “Yeah—I always thought that I needed a master’s to help change the world. Or, that it was the default path to changing the world. But, I can do it other ways as well in the same area. I can always come back and get my master’s another time.”

“Meg, I can help you out,” Marta says. “I want to help you out.”

Meg shakes her head. “I don’t want you to. I want you to be my friend. I want you to be here with me. But Harlan was right. I need to stand on my own two feet.”

Marta takes it in, thinks about what she wants to say. “I will respect your wishes,” she says. “But sometimes help is ok.”

“Let me try a little on my own,” Meg said. “I’ve gotten a job on campus—let’s see how it goes before you write me off completely.”

“I would never write you off,” Marta says.

“I know,” Meg says and her voice is fond when she says it.

They end up ordering a huge spread, Marta and Meg both ravenous, of waffles, eggs, toast, hash browns, bacon and a Dutch baby pancake and split it between them as they catch up. Marta fills Meg in on everything that she’s desperately tried to learn so far for managing the estate (and the Thrombeys).

“I keep trying to think about what Harlan would want me to do for Joni,” Marta says. Joni isn’t helpless—per se—but she’s also always been nice to Marta.

“Being a Thrombey is so in right now,” Meg says in a pitch-perfect recreation of Joni and then switches back to her regular voice. “Please do not worry about my mom. With the scandal about the will and then Ransom’s arrest and trial in the news, she is living it up. Interviews, product placement, Simon & Schuster is giving her an advance for a memoir. She’s fine.”

“That’s good,” Marta says, smiling. “She must be very happy about that.”

Meg shrugs. “I’m not really talking to her right now. I love her, but—well, I think the distance is good for now.”

“I’m sorry,” Marta says.

“Don’t be,” Meg says lightly. “It is entirely her fault.”

It’s almost three in the morning by the time they pay the bill and head out—Marta has to be at the publishing house at nine a.m. and Meg’s got library duty at 8 a.m. But Marta can’t bring herself to regret staying out so late.

When they pull back up to Meg’s dorm, Meg lingers as she’s undoing her seat-belt.

“Will I see you soon?” Marta asks.

Meg’s hand stills over the buckle. “Do you want to see me again?”

“Of course,” Marta says and she means it so much, her heart hurts. “Do you want to see me again?” She tries not to think about what will happen if the answer is no.

Meg takes one look at her face and reaches over, forgetting the seatbelt, and pulls Marta into another hug. “Yes, forever. I want to see you always,” Meg says, a confession to the confessor, and she’s a warm weight against Marta, surrounding her.

This time, Meg is the one to pull back and there’s a puzzled look on her face that softens as she brings up her hands to gently wipe away Marta’s tears. Meg’s touch feels so good and Marta can’t stop thinking about how beautiful Meg is—how much Marta wants her—as a friend, as more than a friend—Marta _wants_ and all of Marta’s late night voicemail messages suddenly slot into space.

Meg is looking at Marta the same way that she always looks at Marta—like Marta is amazing and wonderful and worth the world. If everything in Marta’s life is going to change, her new path barreling down an unknown road, Marta deserves to choose her own map. And so, with her heart beating a million miles a minute, Marta leans in and kisses Meg.

Meg stills, surprised, but kisses back, her hand come up to gently card her fingers through Marta’s hair. There’s nothing but the two of them in the dark, kissing in the car, and when they finally break apart, panting, Marta feels light for the first time since Harlan’s birthday party.

“Marta,” Meg says wonderingly. “Even after everything?”

“Yes,” Marta says and takes Meg’s hand, Meg’s fingers curling around Marta’s, warm and alive and complicated. “Yes.” 


End file.
